


A Bad Day

by WhumpTown



Series: Hurting Hotch [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Maybe Hotch/Prentiss, Past Child Abuse, Shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown
Summary: Raiding a barn, Hotch takes a bullet for Reid and has a very bad day
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner & Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner & Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner & The BAU Team
Series: Hurting Hotch [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755046
Comments: 5
Kudos: 142





	A Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> Quarantine has me rewatching Criminal Minds AGAIN... Aaron Hotchner has my WHOLE heart

Reid’s elbow takes the brunt of his weight. His long legs tripping him as another body suddenly collides with his. The wooden floor of the barn kicks dirt up around them and Reid chokes on the thick air. He lays on his back, choking and gasping for the air knocked from his lungs. He’s shot. The pain pulsating up his side is unmistakable. 

“Reid?”

He sits upright, the pain stabbing. The UNSUB is laying only a few feet away. Eyes open, blood seeping from his head… dead. Reid can’t tear his eyes away from the sight. No one was supposed to die, they were just supposed to be asking some questions.

“Reid,” Hotch moves into his line of sight, grabbing him under his vest and hauling him to his feet. Reid’s eyes lock on Hotch’s face, looking for some sanity from his superior. “We have to get out of here.” Hotch puts a hand on his back, pushing Reid forward.

Right, the profile. 

“There’s-There’s partners.” Reid’s feet move forward on auto-pilot like they’re not connected to his body. His eyes lock on the SUV, parked crooked in the yard with its doors open. Safety. He runs as fast as his trembling legs will allow. 

It’s not safe. The profile suggests they’re dealing with a partnership of at least three and if any of them just heard the shooting from the barn, Hotch and Reid are screwed. They didn’t come prepared for a gunfight.

“No,” Hotch looks too breathless, unusually pale. “You-You have to drive Reid.” He stumbles to the SUV, his body giving out underneath him and he falls heavy in the dirt by the passenger side’s wheel. 

Reid freezes for a moment. Hotch is never weak. He never falls. “Hotch?” He looks down and he sees the dark crimson staining his friend’s side. Black dress pants visibly wet and blue button-down rapidly changing color. “Hotch!”

Hotch looks past Reid. He can’t feel his side. Past the cold chills running down his body, he’s just numb and weak. He knows that’s not good. More important than his wound is the man standing on the front porch of the house. “Reid,” he forces himself to sound normal. To not convey just how exhausted he is. “Get in the car.”

Reid turns, Hotch’s voice betraying him. He sees the man on the porch, now moving towards them. A shotgun at his side.

“Reid,” Hotch looks up at him. “Go.” He pulls himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the car as he bites down nausea. He pulls his gun back out, it lightly trembles in his hand. He shoots daggers at Reid as the genius remains frozen at his side. “Reid, get out of here! Take the car, go!”

Reid shakes his head. He’s putting together what Hotch means, what he plans to do. “I’m not leaving you here, Hotch.” Reid looks between his boss and the man quickly approaching. “Get in the car or I’m not leaving!”

The man takes aim with the shotgun at his side, firing a shot that stirs up the dirt only a foot away from their feet. “Hotch!”

The older man curses, “just get in the car, dammit!” But Reid doesn’t move. Doesn’t budge. They’re running out of time and while Hotch is okay with laying his life down to protect Reid, he isn’t okay with Reid dying just because he’s a stubborn hard head. “Fine!” He throws the car door open and Reid lunges to motion.

The engine skips for just a moment, anxiety lumping in Reid’s throat.

The shotgun goes off and Reid stops at the sound Hotch makes. The older man is half in, half out of the car. Struggling. The man’s too close. Reaching out, Reid grabs Hotch by the shoulder of his kevlar vest and pulls with all his might his right foot hitting the gas and sending them speeding backward. 

Hotch’s foot clears the way just as the door slams shut. 

They both wince as another shot hits the car’s body.

“That was stupid.” Hotch’s deep rumble of voice breaks his concentration for only a moment but he glues his eyes on the road. 

Reid shakes his head, hands trembling on the wheel. He hates driving, he only has a license because of the ‘tactical driving’ class he took to his FBI badge. Really, that sentence should be past tense because he hasn’t had his license reinstated in forever. 

His eyes land on his passenger, on Hotch’s ashy grey skin. His trembling left-hand futilely pressing into his wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. His anxiety only gets worse. “You have to keep your eyes open, Hotch.” He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Does he reach over and hit his boss so the man’s eyes will open back up or does he- “Hotch!” 

The older man’s eyes blinked back open, his head lulling limply to the side as he looks at Reid.

“You like the Beatles, right?” His mother liked the Beatles a lot when he was about 17. “The White album. What’s your favorite song?” He already knows that. He’s been to Hotch’s apartment. The album in question is always out, ready to be played at any given moment.

Hotch swallows thickly. He’s exhausted, fighting a battle he knows he can’t win but if he can make it just a little further… It’ll be better if he dies in a hospital and not in the passenger seat of their SUV. “Blackbird,” he manages, voice a deep rumbling mess.

Reid nods, “right! Okay!” He runs a stop sign, only looking back once at the car that blows its horn at them. “I’ll start the lyric and you finish it, okay?” He looks over and Hotch is out again. He reaches over, blindly hitting until Hotch pushes his hand away. “Blackbird singing…”

It takes his brain a moment to make his mouth work, to recall how to speak. “...in the dead of night.” 

Reid nods, “take these broken wings and…?”

Hotch is struggling. The pain is excruciating, his adrenaline fading. He moves his left hand from his side and bites down the fire licking his side. “And-and learn to fly.”

Reid turns to the right, hard. He hits the breaks and it moves Hotch all over the seat. This time he can’t bite down and he shouts in pain, trembling visibly. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He can see the hospital entrance, he floors it.

“Hotch!” The older man’s eyes have slipped shut. His body limp in the passenger seat, unresponsive. He hits the brake, throwing the car in park, he throws himself out of the side. “Help! Help!” He opens the passenger door, stepping up into the car so he can see Hotch’s face. “Hotch, please! Hotch?”

The older man’s face is ashy and clammy, he’s lost too much blood. “All your life,” Reid shakes him. Urging Hotch to wake up and finish the lyric ‘ _you were only waiting for this moment to arise’ _. “Come on, finish the lyric!” He slaps Hotch’s cheek, earning him nothing for the effort.__

__“Sir!” An army of people are outside of the door car and Reid is hesitant to leave his boss with them. To trust him with them. “Sir, step back. Let us help.”_ _

__He does, numb. He watches as a nurse climbs into the SUV, it takes two men to lift his boss. Even though the man’s just skin and bones, Reid watches his lanky boss’s head rest limply on the cot, his left hand slipping off the side._ _

__Reid can’t fight back the sob tearing through the back of his throat._ _

__\-----------------_ _

__Emily comes home._ _

__Not to her apartment in London or to Clyde and the Interpol office._ _

__She comes to Virginia, to Quantico. _Home_. Because no matter how many friends she makes at Interpol or how well her team is doing she still misses them. The bullpen is empty, her heart is empty. _ _

__She misses Reid’s mitch match socks on jet rides home. The way standing beside Rossi felt like a hug but his real hugs are like being cradled and the love is so overwhelming that it stings her eyes. Stealing JJ’s Cheetos when the blonde turns her back. The deep rumble of Morgan’s laughter as the two of them fight pick on Reid. Garcia fussing at them for making fun of the ‘baby’ of the team. Hotch, the calm before each storm, and his unwavering trust in her abilities no matter how many times she stumbles._ _

__“Emily!”_ _

__Her heart skips. The bright lights of Penelope Garcia are coming straight for her and she can’t help but not be… excited. The bullpen is empty, it seems like the only person on the entire floor is Garcia._ _

__Arms wrap around her neck, she’s thrown into the wonderful healing magic of a Penelope Garcia hug. Except, she knows something is wrong because Garcia is brilliant and beautiful but she’s an awful liar. She’s even worse at hiding things._ _

__“Garcia,” Emily frowns, the hug isn’t working its magic. It can’t because she won’t let it until she figures out what’s wrong. “Where is everyone?” She looks around the bullpen and despite the eerie silence of the bullpen. She finds that the silence is not what scares her. Hotch’s office light is off. The door is shut. The door is never shut._ _

__Garcia’s eyes flicker to the office and Emily knows, almost immediately, that it’s Hotch. Her stomach ties itself into a knot, her heart creeping up into her throat. She can feel tears stinging her eyes, her hands trembling at her side. “Garcia?”_ _

__The other woman looks to the ground, as much hesitation and fear as Emily feels. “There-There was an accident,” her voice trembles and her eyes glass over with a swell of tears. “Reid, he-he…” a single tear falls down her cheek. “He’s in surgery,” her voice gives out, the tear slipping down her cheek. “Reid was there for the whole thing, he’s… He’s not talking.”_ _

__Emily puts her emotions aside, compartmentalizes it. “Right,” she looks down at the bags at Garcia’s feet. Wherever Garcia’s going, Emily is too. “Well, take me with you. Let’s go.” Her own go bag is in the car and she can recognize Garcia’s in her hand._ _

__Garcia blinks, clearly not taking in what Emily means. “You want to come?” She shakes her head, “you can just stay here. We’ll all be back soon. You don’t want to sit in a hospital…” Garcia looks impossibly tired._ _

__Emily shakes her head, “no, are you kidding?” She waves her hand, dismissing the idea. “Penelope, I want to come.” She came back to Quantico for them. It doesn’t matter if they’re in the middle of the woods or in a hospital, she needs to see them. All of them and now she won’t rest until she sees them alive. All of them. “I am coming.”_ _

__\-----------------_ _

__JJ is the first person through the doors. Her eyes scan the room, overlooking men and women who look nothing like either Hotch or Reid. Her eyes settle on him. He’s sitting in a chair, blood on his shirt and skin unnaturally pale. His head is hanging, eyes glued to the floor. “Reid!”_ _

__“Reid, what happened!”_ _

__It was like Tobias Hankel all over again. He saw them coming and took off for the barn. Hotch parked the SUV in the yard, shouting for Reid to follow as he chased the other man down. Reid stumbled out of the car, knees already wobbly with adrenaline. He followed Hotch, dutiful and protective, but when Hotch through open the barn door..._ _

__He’d hit the ground. Hotch had pushed him, using his own body to shield Reid as they fell to the ground. Hotch took out one of the UNSUBs while shot and Reid did nothing. Nothing._ _

__“Reid.” Morgan crouches down, his hotheaded temper forgotten as he attempts to soothe the nerves of their youngest member. “Hey,” he cups Reid’s face in his hand, guiding the other man’s attention to him. “Hey, man.” Morgan soothes his voice, his face calm. “I need you to talk to me, okay?” He nods his head, “what happened?”_ _

__Reid’s eyes fill with tears, his mouth hanging limp. He can’t find the words. Hotch was lifeless. Limp. “He-He,” Reid chokes on a sob. He looks down at his hands. “He wanted me to leave him behind.” His voice breaks, the tears falling down his cheeks. “The UNSUB saw us coming and Hotch…” Reid swallows thickly. “I had to drive,” there’s a sad, deeply distraught smile as tears stream down the corners of his mouth._ _

__Morgan frowns, putting just enough together to understand. “I’m sorry he made you drive,” he wipes away Reid’s tears with his thumb. “I’m glad you’re okay though.” He doesn’t think twice, he wraps his arms around Reid. He squeezes his friend, his fear and anxiety diminishing now that he knows that at least one of them is okay._ _

__Rossi sighs, relieved too but Hotch is still MIA. His condition unknown. That’s hard on Rossi. The younger man is his protege, his friend. “Any news on Hotch?” Rossi only got one chance with biological children but as far as he’s concerned his other son is laying in some O.R. beyond his control and sight._ _

__Reid shakes his head, “they just-they took him.” He wipes his hands down his face, frowning down at the floor. “He passed out. I thought… I thought he was dead.”_ _

__Hotch had too. When Reid had hit the brakes, turning hard into the entrance his mouth had opened, his throat grated but he didn’t hear his own exclamation of pain. He hadn’t felt the pain, just the cold numbing effects of shock working up his body._ _

__The sensation is a nightmare he knows all too well._ _

__His father had been the first person to invoke it. One well-placed kick to his solar plexus, breaking three ribs, and his eyes had rolled into the back of his head as his mouth opened for air. A month later he did it again. A punch that knocked Aaron out. He woke up choking on vomit and limbs jerking unnaturally._ _

__That was the last time his father ever hit him but the feeling came back as his young eyes looked into the black whole his father was being laid to rest in. His body numb. Life, numb. He contemplated killing himself. He protected his mother, saved Sean… what else is there? Too many years of his life spent surviving and now the threat is gone. What is his life beyond hiding and fear?_ _

__Now, he’s forty-years-old sliding around the seat of an SUV. He set records in the academy that no one has come close to scratching. He’s dying. His teen years spent learning to survive and take the punches… no help now._ _

__Hotch blinks himself awake._ _

__The weight of his body is a subtle warning to remain as still as possible, not that he’s so sure he could move so much as a finger right now. He can’t think. Just moving his eyes around the empty room saps him dry. The room is dark, lit by the light coming from the window in the door._ _

__His brain tries and fails to figure out why he’s in the hospital. The drugs are more than doing their job, helpfully reminding him of the pain in his chest. _Father_. Except… Reid. _“I knew you’d understand.”_ No, that’s not right. This isn’t Hankel. _ _

__Panic grips his mind, his mother’s hands on her shoulders. Her voice calling, asking, _“why can’t you just hide, Aaron? Why do you try and make him angry?”_ She shakes him and his chest seizes with pain. _ _

__“Hotch!”_ _

__He blinks, chest heaving as he fails to draw in enough air. His mother is gone. He blinks sleep from his eyes, forcing himself to straighten, to seem presentable. His eyes settle on JJ and he knows he’s failed._ _

__One of her palms cups his cheeks and he feels a rush of air against his nose. Her fingers reposition the fallen nasal canal. He tries to gasp out an excuse but her thumb wipes just under his eyes. He’s crying._ _

__“Oh, Aaron.”_ _

__His heart hurts. His head is foggy, unclear. _“Oh, Aaron.”_ That’s how he used to measure how far his father was from them. His mother would come into whatever room his father had left him in and whisper those sad words. She’d brush her hand through his overgrown hair and hold him until he fell asleep. He would be too weak to make the hike up the stairs to the attic and she was too weak to help._ _

__Her hands are warm. His body is warm, too warm._ _

__Virginia heat. His childhood home. Loud piano sonatas to cover the sounds of battered children and drunken rants. Summer days sitting in the living room, eyes glued to the street as he waited on edge for his father to come home. Eating rushed lunches and breakfasts because if his father could find the proof that his mother had fed him than the beatings would be that much worse._ _

__He’s not in that world anymore. That was a different boy another lifetime ago._ _

__“JJ…” haunted eyes find hers, pale lips moving to form the letters of her name but the sound that escapes his lips is so soft she doesn’t hear it. His mind taunts him, reminds him how he lost her too. He’s lost them all along the way. Either by pushing them away or by not being strong enough._ _

__He wishes he could get up from this bed. To run. Feel his feet hit the ground, nature beating up his nerves. Run until he can’t think. The wind pushing against his face._ _

__“Everyone’s okay,” she says first because she knows him too well. Priority is never himself and he’s only proved that again today by saving Reid. “Reid,” she sees the way his eyes flicker, bringing him back to Earth in a flash at the mention of the other man’s name. “He’s okay too.”_ _

__Instant relief floods his chest._ _

__JJ’s thumb brushes his cheek once more and he realizes he’s sinking back under the control of the drugs in his system. “Get some sleep, Hotch.” Her voice is soft, comforting. He lets himself be comforted by it and falls asleep._ _

__\-----------------_ _

__Emily and Garcia have to turn around. Morgan calls and tells them that Rossi’s convinced the hospital that Hotch can handle being home. Which translates to: Hotch is up enough to clearly communicate he will break out of the hospital if they don’t get him out themselves._ _

__Emily fears for Hotch’s safety with the way Garcia starts yelling at Morgan. In the end, Garcia calms down enough to understand it really is best if Hotch goes home to recover. She makes Morgan promise to watch over their boss and ends the call much calmer._ _

__“He says to go home,” Garcia sighs. “They’re staying the night at the hospital and bringing him home in the morning.” Garcia swipes a finger under her eye. “Morgan says they’re a little worried about the drive but it’s only about an hour.” She sucks in a deep breath, looking over at Emily. “We’re not supposed to go to his apartment until 5 o’clock.”_ _

__But Emily got bored sitting in her hotel room. Plus, she safely assumed either Morgan or Rossi would be ‘guarding’ Hotch and they wouldn’t be that bothered if she stopped by. Walking up to his apartment, a place she once owned the key to, she feels a little anxious._ _

__The moment Rossi appears in the doorway though, she feels nothing but happiness._ _

__“Mio caro!” He wraps her up in a hug and guides her in. “What a surprise, Emily!” He shakes his head, pulling her at an arm's distance so he can look her over. He frowns, “I’m going to have to put some meat on these bones!” He puts a hand on her cheek, “I’m happy to see you… but I assume you know about…”_ _

__She nods her head._ _

__Rossi’s frowns sadden. He clicks his tongue, “he’s sleeping right now.”_ _

__The moment Emily sets eyes on him her face falls. He looks like a broken doll sleeping on the couch. His long limbs are too long to fit naturally across the couch. His left hand is on his chest, the right, having fallen off the couch, is resting on the ground. His legs are hanging off the edge of the couch, mitched-matched black socks on his feet. “How is he?”_ _

__Rossi wraps his arms around her, leaning his head against hers. Hotch and Emily are his most difficult challenges in life. Impenetrable forces of nature. Leaders who forget they’re human too. Bound to stumble and need help occasionally. “Besides the almost dying and not listening to a word of advice given by his doctors, not that bad.”_ _

__Emily smiles. After everything that happened with Foyet, she was the only person that could get through to him. Clinically, she approached everything she said with logic. He argued he wasn’t tired at night. She argued Jack would develop a mal-adaptive relationship with sleep and might form insomnia if he sees Hotch depriving himself. She smiles at the thought of the hell Hotch put Rossi through just on the ride home. “I can only imagine,” but her smile isn’t sympathetic. “Where are the others?”_ _

__Rossi rolls his eyes. They’re all being little shits. “Derek promised to keep Garcia away for another hour.” He shakes his head, “I’m hoping that means he sleeps for another hour. It’ll put him in a much better mood to deal with his clingy visitors.”_ _

__They’re all familiar with how their coworkers can be when it comes to nuzzling wounded teammates. It can be a little much on the most patient but Hotch… he’s not as forgiving and tolerant when the focus is on him._ _

__She’s almost sorry for the trainwreck about to occur but at the same time, she’s thrilled she’s here to watch it happen. “So everyone’s coming here?” Poor Hotch and all but Rossi solves all ailments with food. And, frankly, it’s been way too long since she’s had his food._ _

__He nods, “the whole team. Garcia’s going to bring some baked stuff for us to reheat over the week as he recovers but I’m making dinner tonight.” He runs his fingers through his goatee, “I’m trying to figure what I should make.” He sighs, “lasagna would be the best for the large group but it’s going to be hard on Aaron’s stomach.”_ _

__Emily gets immediate flashbacks to Hotch’s stomach on antibiotics after the stabbing. He could hardly keep anything down._ _

__Rossi snaps his fingers, “I’ll make soup. Minestrina, Pastina soup!” He slaps his palms to his thighs and looks to the kitchen._ _

__Emily interrupts him before he even vocalizes the thought. “Don’t bother,” Emily says, a note of sadness in her voice. “His cupboards are pretty much bare. You’re going to be very disappointed to find the only pasta he has is boxed macaroni.” Her certainty is born from too many afternoons spent with Hotch. She doubts his eating habits have miraculously changed over the last two years._ _

__Rossi winces but as much as his Italian mind screams at the horror of boxed macaroni, his heartbreaks. Aaron is a large man in stature, a towering force but he’s wire-thin. It hurts to find out the man doesn’t take care of himself but Rossi should have known that. He does know that._ _

__Emily forces the subject to change, waving her hand through the air. “I can sit here with him if you want. I doubt he’ll be up.” Which is true. If Hotch falls asleep somewhere that isn’t his bed he’s beyond exhausted, nothing short of gunshots are getting the man up._ _

__Rossi hesitates but he knows she’s right. He grabs his keys from the tray, “okay but if he wakes up…” Rossi pockets the keys, slipping his shoes back on. He points to the bags on the counter, “he can have a Tylenol but anything heavier he needs to wait for something to eat.” He pauses, glancing at the sleeping figure on the couch. “Okay, thank you, Emily.” He’s gone before she can respond._ _

__She refuses to admit just how happy she is that Rossi is going to make food. The food alone is almost a good enough reason to come home. Which reminds her…_ _

__Emily comes around the side of the house, looking Hotch over. For a moment she thinks he’s managed to bruise both eyes and she sighs sadly, realizing he’s just that exhausted. He’s thinner than the last time she saw him. The grey Hanes shirt on his body seems large on him. Her eyes drift to the bare skin of his stomach. The shirt had risen up in his sleep, showing the lower part of his abdomen._ _

__She can’t see any of the scars but she knows where they are._ _

__She takes a deep breath, forcing her eyes away. He’ll be okay._ _

__Looking around his apartment she feels old habits coming back. She walks back to his bedroom, recalling he keeps his running shoes in the closet. She doubts that Hotch has washed them recently. Men._ _

__She’s right. To his credit, he has replaced the old pair. These are nice and much more ‘in’ style but they’re a simple grey and black Nike body. Still very much him. Never mind the mud caked to them. She picks them up and moves to his closet, pulling out the hamper he keeps in one neat corner._ _

__The first time she’d seen his room she had momentarily convinced herself he had to have been to some formal training school or the military. Until her profiler brain kicked into gear and she was helpfully reminded of the way he acts. This neat, tidy apartment is not born from the hands of the military. No, it came from the hands of his father. Hotch learned to keep neat, to be hidden to survive childhood spent dodging punches._ _

__She shudders but forces her mind from the subject. The team and Rossi won’t be long, she should wake Hotch. He’ll want to gather his bearings and he’ll need them. He might like a shower, too._ _

__She makes a pit stop at his washing machine. Finding it empty, she fills it. Once the cycle is running she moves to her next mission._ _

__“Hey, boss.” She pats his ankle, knowing better than to wake a man like Hotch from his sleep. He would never hurt her on purpose and if she woke him from his sleep and he lashed out… he’d never forgive himself. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”_ _

__His eyes blink open, frowning. Slowly, he focuses on the figure looming over him. “Emily?”_ _

__She smiles, “the one and only.” She pats his ankle again, “no rush and you certainly don’t have to but Garcia and her minions are going to be here in less than an hour.” Biting down the small smile that threatens to spread on her face at the way he seems exhausted at just the mention of them, she continues. “I figured, at the very least, you’d like a shower.”_ _

__He nods._ _

__She offers him hand sitting up, shocked when he doesn’t grumble about not needing help. Swallowing the small heat of fear at the thought, she stops him before he can get up completely. “Two rules.”_ _

__His eyes settle on her, suspecting he already knows the rules._ _

__“Wait, three.” She holds up her hand, lifting a finger to correspond with each rule. “One, you can’t lock the door. Two, if you need help you will ask. Three, don’t fall.”_ _

__He closes his eyes, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. “I think I can do that.”_ _

__She smiles, holding up her pinkie, “pinkie promise?”_ _

__He shakes his head but locks their pinkies together. “You’re worse than Jack. Pinkie promise.”_ _

__She locks her elbow with his as he stands, allowing him to lean on her as needed. They make their way to the bathroom, slow and steady. She can feel his hip bones, the thick material of his sweatpants unable to hide his protruding bones. “Hotch?”_ _

__He looks down at her, leaning against the sink so she can afford to leave him to his privacy. He’s exhausted, muscles sore and chest aching. “Prentiss.”_ _

__She shakes her head at the use of her last name. Tentatively, she takes a step closer and hugs him. “It’s good to see you.”_ _

__The words get stuck in his throat, the emotions swelling up in his chest. He’s too tired to deal with his emotions but he can’t say just anything. Nearly too late, Emily turns to leave him to his shower. “Emily?” She turns back, eyebrows raised. “I’m having a bad day.”_ _

__For a moment, he fears she hasn’t understood. His words from years ago, reminding her that no matter what he’s there for her and that all she needs to say is she’s having a bad day and he’ll understand._ _

__But she smiles and he feels a deep relief within his chest. She shrugs, sympathizing. “You got shot, Hotch.” Her tone has an edge of humor and he can’t help but feel his mood lift. “I think you get to be a little grumpy.”_ _

__He raises his eyebrows, a clear sign that he thinks he’s been a little more just grumpy._ _

__“Okay,” she relents. He can be an ass, a loveable ass but… “Well, Rossi’s making soup and Garcia’s coming with goodies.” She tries to sound happy but it fails when he frowns. That’s fair. Those two are horrible mother hens. She grimaces, “just take a shower. I promise to take your side when they try to put you to bed at 7.”_ _

__He grimaces at just the thought._ _

__She shuts the bathroom door and smiles. All she can think of is: _Aaron Hotchner and the no good very bad day.__ _


End file.
